


Romeo and Juliet (But Weirder)

by Mischiefs_Angel



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Be Smart Kids; Don't run off with people you just met, Broken Families, Canon-Typical Prejudice, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles and Erik as Best Frienemies, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Dadneto, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Like a Lot of Family Drama, Non-Film Canon Wanda Maximoff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Running Away, Semi-Redeemed Magneto, Slightly X-Men Evolution Inspired Wanda Maximoff, Teen Angst, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischiefs_Angel/pseuds/Mischiefs_Angel
Summary: Francesca "Frankie" MacTaggert is sick of being fed lies about who she is. Every day it becomes harder to act normal; every day the world grows more dangerous for those who aren't. The truth about herself is way more than she had ever bargained for. Why couldn't she have just been from a normal family? And why the hell did it have to be him that found her first?(Revision of an Old Fanfiction)
Relationships: Moira MacTaggert/Charles Xavier, Peter Maximoff/Original Female Character, Pietro Maximoff/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

Frankie's head pounded as her headache grew rapidly. She hated prolonged exposure to other people. The headache it caused was a daily issue, but the frequency and pain had grown worse recently. There was once a hope that she would have get used to it or find some way cope, but it was drowned in the noise and the pain. She rubbed her temples -- a long set habit. A particularly sharp pain stabbed at the side of her brain, forcing out a silent wince that she did her best to hide. The lights in her classroom flickered, but she was too trapped in the chaos to notice. The voices raged in her mind, each different, each with uniquely tangled webs of thoughts. Fragments. Words. Flashes. Feelings. All of them overlapping in an indiscernible symphony of noise. The more she tried to push the sound away, the louder it grew, swelling until she felt her head might split. Louder...louder...louder...

"Miss MacTaggert?"

The sound went unheard. Her thoughts were too tangled in those of the students around her.

"MacTaggert."

Still the name went unregistered by an overwhelmed mind. 

_ "Francesca MacTaggert!" _

Frankie finally heard the yell of her irritated teacher cutting through the rest of the noise, forcing her physical senses to push out the mental confusion. She looked up from where her gaze had been fixed down onto her desk to see the small angry woman standing in front of her. Her teacher's mouth formed a thin, wrinkled scowl.

"Yes?" she squeaked quietly. 

It was a painful and obvious fact that the teacher had called to her many times, as every eye in the room was fixed on her. She was thankful at her mind’s sudden silence, as it ensured that she could not hear the inevitable judgement in the thoughts of others. An infinitesimal mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. 

"Perhaps, if you paid more attention,” her exasperated teacher snapped, “you will one day be able to  _ answer a question _ in this class.” 

Frankie heard various whispered remarks from around her. Holding onto the former shred of mercy, she begged her mind not to dig beyond the surface, intentional or otherwise. If the spectacle was worth risking a share of the already angered teacher’s wrath, she could only imagine what the inner reactions were. 

_ No. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear them.  _

She cemented her mind and thoughts to her instructor’s words. No matter the sting and embarrassment they carried, it was a tangible tether to the reality beyond the pressure in her skull. 

"Why don't you tell us what could be so interesting as to distract you from my lecture," the teacher insisted harshly “... _ again.”  _

"M'sorry,” she answered in a shy mutter, unable to muster a stronger voice. “I have a headache.” 

"Miss MacTaggert, you have used this excuse seemingly every week for the duration of the school year. You will either have to pay attention in class, or one day entertain us with the truth. Until you decide, you can wait in the principal's office!"

Frankie didn’t argue. She never fought this inevitable punishment. She simply grabbed her things and slipped quietly out of the room, hoping to soon be forgotten as the class behind her resumed. 

By the moment she had entered the principal’s office, her decision had been made. She could sit and explain why she had been sent, once again offering the same vague story. It was a partial truth, but the inkling of truth was no longer capable of earning the principal’s patience or lenience. Instead, saving her tears and truths for another day, she took a deep breath and entered without a word. Her solution was a risk and it took a great deal of concentration. The gamble paid off quickly as, through intent concentration on her part, the principal  _ conveniently _ let her off with a warning and instructions to leave school for the day. She had sworn to herself to only exercise such options in emergencies, as each convenient escape added to the risk of failure or discovery. In such cases as today, the definition of “emergency” was stretched and left no energy for guilt. She could sort through regrets later. For now, she could not deny that mental manipulation had its uses. 

She did what she could to put the problematic sequence of events behind her, shoving every textbook from her bag into her locker and closing it with a sigh of relief. One more day. If she could only keep this up for one more day. That was the bargain she had made with herself the day before. That was the lie she had told herself every day for years.  _ Just one more day. _

Frankie was nine years old when she had discovered that she could reach into other people’s minds.  _ Telepathy _ she later learned that it was called. At first, she didn’t want to believe it. It was easy to convince herself that she was imagining it all. A creative mind might offer suggestions of what goes on in another’s thoughts. The hopeful theory of an active imagination failed her -- as well as any excuse that she was simply losing her mind -- when her reach extended to controlling the thoughts of others. The first time had been an accident. After that, the process was a challenge. No matter how it occurred, however, she was no longer able to deny it. She wasn’t normal. Rather than telling anyone, she lied. She covered the evidence with excuses. Layered excuses began to take the façade of a chronic medical condition, resulting in frequent headaches. The excuse was effective on occasion. After all, the pain she felt was real. 

Other times, when the excuse failed, she found herself manipulating her way away from the crowded school. Whatever the cause, the only way to be rid of the pressure in her head was to remove herself from its cause: other people. The only times when she didn't suffer from these headache-causing floods of thought were when she was in a room alone or with very few others. It was also possible to cut out the noise when she tuned out the world with headphones and loud music. Of the two, isolation or headphones, the music was her favorite option.

Now, she faced yet another problem. She couldn't walk home for fear that her mom would be there. If her mom saw her at home early, there would be questions. She would suspect that Frankie was in some form of trouble. There was no subtle or safe escape from additional trouble at home.. Instead, she'd play hookie until it was closer to the end of the school day. It was only three hours. 

As she reached into her bookbag, digging around for her headphones, something caught the corner of her eye. A blurred flash of silver. The movement had gone so quickly that she nearly shook it off as a trick of light or a trick of the mind. That, however, was not the manner of trick that her mind often played. She looked up, searching her surroundings carefully. The only other soul around was a boy standing by the corner of the school. Even where he lingered, far from the door, Frankie couldn’t understand how she had missed him. He stood out starkly against the faded brick wall. He was a tall, pale teenager with hair that was as silver as the jacket he wore. The striking hair color was not the most interesting thing about him. No, the most interesting thing to Frankie was that this boy was staring straight at her. Curious, dark eyes fixed on her own. There were no foreign thoughts in her head. She heard nothing from him. Not a single word or feeling. In that brief moment, there was only a silent understanding in the look, as though it were written all over her that she was not meant to be there. The very same, she knew that neither was he. She dared another look around, fearing that one misplaced student would draw undo attention to the other. There was no one else. When she looked back, the boy was gone. She was alone. 

She put her headphones on, blared her music, and just walked. The destination didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the steady rhythm of her sneakers on the sidewalk pavement and the soothing bass of the music that drowned out the world around her. All at once connected with the physical world and disconnected from those in it, she contently wandered. She lost herself in the peace and in thought as she wandered aimlessly through the city. 

It wasn't until the sun began to set that she was broken free from her thoughts. How long had the light been fading? What time was it?! She silently panicked, wondering just how long she had been walking. Quickly checking her watch, her eyes widened at the answer. It was 5:47 already! She was  _ very _ late.

"Crap!" she exclaimed, taking off in a run toward her house.

So much for avoiding trouble with her family. 

Frankie and her mother lived in a row house in one of the nearby suburban areas. It was a tall, thin, brick building with a sad set of cement steps leading to the door, utterly unimpressive to the eye. Her mother was fond of the simple house, though Frankie always argued that it was too nearly identical to those around it. Those arguments had long ceased. The house had been home long enough to be free of protests about its appearance.

The cracked cement steps leading to the creaking front door had an ominous air today, as though the house itself knew that it ushered her to an uncertain fate at the hands of her protective mother. When she arrived, she quickly ascended the judgemental steps and rushed inside. Better to get the inevitable over with. 

As anticipated, Frankie found her mother waiting not far inside. 

“And where have you been?” Moira asked her daughter, a hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised sharply in question. 

"I went out for a walk and lost track of time,” Frankie answered earnestly. 

It was the truth, though she would leave out the part from the principle’s office. 

"That cannot happen again,” her mother firmly insisted. “You need to tell me when you’re going to be out late.” 

“I hadn’t planned on--” Frankie attempted in defense. 

“Then plan next time. Keep your head down here on earth with the rest of you. Got it?” 

Frankie’s groan was safely internalized within her own thoughts. Her mom had always been overprotective. She was generally banned from any manner of a social life by the restrictions placed on her schedule. Even if she had the freedom, she was often discouraged from spending too much time around other teenagers. There was always a new reason, cleverly crafted but false. Frankie came by her own pension for excuses quite honestly. The result of her mother’s protective nature: isolation. 

"I lost track of time,” she repeated again, this time without any interruption. “I really don't think that I have to give you an itinerary of my day each time I step out of the house.” 

_ "Excuse me?"  _

"I'm graduating this year, Mom," Frankie continued. "When I leave for college, do you really expect me to call and tell you everything I do? I should be learning how to be responsible for myself, right?” 

Moira fell silent. Frankie knew there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere between them, as though she had broached a dangerous subject. There was a sound logic in Frankie’s words. She  _ was  _ old enough to branching out, but that was likely where the problem waited just beneath the surface of the conversation. 

“Go wash up for dinner,” she was instructed. “We’ll talk about it then.” 

Every inkling of a fight left her mother’s words, leaving only a resigned exhaustion. Frankie had never witnessed such a sudden change in her mother’s demeanor, and she wasn’t sure which was worse: angry or resigned. 

She turned to hurry up the stairs, depositing her school bag in her bedroom and steeling herself for whatever fresh hell this day offered next. Nothing takes the sting out of a difficult day quite like the anticipation of a heavy dinner conversation. 

_ Lovely.  _

It was 34 minutes into their dinner when Frankie’s mother finally spoke. It was possible to track the minutes exactly, since Frankie repeatedly checked the clock on the wall behind her mother. Since it was just the two of them, dinners were often quiet. They sat on opposite ends of a small table in the kitchen and occasionally offered small talk when the threat of argument wasn’t prominent in the air. It never used to be this difficult. The more Frankie learned to read the people around her, the more she had begun to notice when her mother would keep things quiet, stretch the truth, or steer the conversation away from certain things. The more her telepathic tendencies seemed to grow, the less able she was to block out the truth. 

Things become quickly uncomfortable between two people when one knows that they’re being lied to. 

“So,” Moira broke through the silence, “how was school?”

Any other day, Frankie would have played along with the conversation. She would have spouted off some information about upcoming tests or projects. Perhaps even a complaint or two about the workload would solidify her story. Today was too different. Something was truly off. Each day closer to Frankie’s long anticipated graduation seemed to add on to the unease. If she continued to bury this feeling under facetious small talk, it was only going to get worse. 

She couldn’t do this anymore. 

“That’s not what you want to talk about,” Frankie stated. 

No question underlined her words. It was a fact and they would only be on the same page when it was addressed that they both knew the act was over. 

“Is it so hard to believe that I want to talk to my daughter about her day?” 

Frankie carefully lessened the tight hold that she worked so diligently to keep over her mind. As she allowed this extra sense of hers more freedom, the pressure in her skull lessened to a dull ache. Her mind, now allowed to stretch out further, easily saw the agitation locked away behind her mother’s words. There was something else there. Something deeper.  _ Worry.  _

“You want to talk to me about college,” Frankie continued, laying out more common ground. 

The relief from pressure, along with the freedom of knowing what was going on around her, was a far contrast from her earlier misery. Frankie barely registered the way her hold on her mind slipped even further than intended. The thoughts were not clear, not exact words, but she could still hear what she needed. It was so much easier this way. 

“Every time I want to discuss it, you change the subject,” Frankie noted, eyes narrowing slightly in an instinctive concentration. “But now we’re running out of time.” 

She was close -- so close -- to the truth! If she could just make the noise a bit clearer. 

“You’re not letting me go.” 

Moira didn’t answer at first, frozen in place as unconcealed surprise settled onto her face. There were no niceties to hide behind. No pretense was laid to soften this blow. Frankie had simply known, ripping the metaphorical bandaid right from the wound she had hoped was hidden. 

“How could you know that?” she finally asked her daughter. 

“Lucky guess.”

Frankie scolded herself for the teenage-angst bitterness that had crept into those words. This relationship was fragile at its best, but no bad days gave her the right to pry the truth out like this. This was her mom. She had every right to be worried about her own child. It was just getting to be too much. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered after silence had held the table for a solid minute. “I know because...I just know. I don’t know. It’s a feeling.” 

Moira sighed, setting her fork down on her long ignored dinner plate. She reached across the table in a hopeful gesture, taking Frankie’s hand in hers. 

“It’s not a question of  _ letting _ you go,” she explained, “because I know you will. If you want to put all the cards on the table and talk about it, that’s fine. I love you. I want you to succeed. I know you’re more than capable of it.” 

Frankie would have loved for the conversation to end there, but the way her mother’s hand squeezed hers tighter in that moment was warning that there was more to be said. 

“...but it’s too soon.”

“Why?” Frankie’s voice broke on the word, but she did her best to push the sting of disappointment further down. She wanted a raw conversation; disappointment was a risk that she knowingly took. 

“I…” Moira started to answer, her gaze falling on the table between them. “I just need you to trust me.” 

Silence suffocated the table once more. The room was suddenly too small. Too still. Frankie retreated into her thoughts, reeling in her mind and locking it away once again. It was one of too many doors she felt shutting around her. 

“A lot of people take some time off before college,” Moira offered, earnest in her attempt at encouragement, feeble as it was. 

“Time off to travel,” Frankie amended, “or to start a life. To go places and do things!” 

“Frankie--” Moira started, but her words failed her as Frankie withdrew her hand and stood from the table. 

“I can’t stay here forever.” 

Her mother’s final say was never spoken aloud, but Frankie heard it clearly. 

_ And I can’t stop you.  _


	2. Chapter 2

The tense discussion with her mother lingered in Frankie’s mind, chasing away any hope of sleep. Her mind was too active, playing the memories again and again. She studied each word, each expression, and each feeling, looking for something that she had missed. Some reason or sign that her mother wasn’t telling her about. Perhaps she was truthfully looking for some tangible evidence that her mother had discovered her... _ condition.  _ She had no better name for it today. No one had to know if she could continue to keep it under control; lately, that goal was increasingly difficult. There was too much in her head and every day just added more. 

The ring of the morning school bell felt as though it pierced through her skull, as she continued her groggy trudge down the hallway. The noise, both regular and telepathic, was excruciating. It wasn’t unusual to have trouble sorting out  _ some _ of the sound, but the chaos served as a testament to how little sleep she had gotten. She considered leaving the school, but she didn't want to further risk absence this close to graduating, as that was the only lasting escape from high school. An unintelligible mass of thoughts and worries continued to swell in her thoughts. Worries about tests, about relationships, about athletic events. Teenage stress all piled onto one another, none of them familiar. Frankie began to lose track of which thoughts were actually her own. She stubbornly continued her attempts to concentrate, to at least dull the noise of the others. Every trick that had worked before was tried. Every one failed. 

_ Just shut up,  _ she heard her thoughts rage over the others. It wasn’t clear whether she was scolding her own mind or those around her. 

_ Oh, man. There’s no way I can show that grade to my parents… _

Frankie’s hands shot up, instinctively covering her ears. It was a useless attempt, but she couldn’t will her arms to lower. 

_ I can’t believe he hasn’t asked me yet! What is he waiting for… _

She frantically looked around, searching for something  _ \-- anything --  _ to lock her other senses onto. When she looked at the lockers, she saw the perspectives all at once. Up close, watching someone turn the dial combination on a locker. 

_ 12, 21, 7… _

The drinking fountain, set beneath a wall of garishly bright student events fliers. 

_ Man this place is the worst! I can’t wait to get out of here… _

The hallway flooded with students, but...not the hallway she was standing in. Was it? It all felt real. It was all real. She saw everything, but which part was her? Lockers. She saw a wall of lockers now. Reaching out toward the cold metal, her hand met nothing. She had not even seen it outstretched in front of her as she had told it to move. 

_ What’s happening?! _

The pain that she so often felt had grown too strong, worse than anything she had ever felt before. She screwed her eyes shut, desperate for any relief. Still, the images flashed by faster and faster. She stepped back, still unsure of where she stood, until she felt something cold at her back. Wall? Lockers? Whatever it was, she leaned back against the solid surface, clutching her head and bending under the pain. Another student bumped roughly into her walking past...or did that happen to someone else? She felt it. She felt everything. 

_ I’m late… _

_ What’s with her… _

_ Perfect. Flat tire, missed quiz, now this… _

The pressure built until it forced a scream from her chest. With that scream, she felt herself completely let go. 

“STOP!” 

All of the pain dulled away. Her own thoughts once again became clear in her mind. The world went dark as her vision dimmed to that of her tightly shut eyes. Slowly, feeling the sudden relief of silence, she lowered her hands from her head. Her actions were mired in hesitation as she stood fully back up and opened her eyes. It was not only the sound that had stopped. Everything had stopped. The students who crowded the hall stood still, frozen as if time itself had stopped. 

“H-hello?” she managed to say through the stinging in her throat from her earlier outburst. 

There was no reply. She looked around at the faces of the stationary figures around her. Their faces showed nothing, a blank expression staring forward, unseeing and unthinking. 

“Hello?!” Frankie echoed, her voice a shout in hopes to get some form of response. 

None came. 

A sickening feeling settled in her stomach. There was no doubt, deny it as much as she could, of the horrifying truth. She had done this. Wet streaks on her face started to cool, evidence of tears that she had not felt fall. Again, she stepped back, seeking stability from the wall. Lockers at her back, she slowly slid down to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. There were no other thoughts to distract from their presence this time. She simply buried her face in her folded arms and waited, surrounded by others and completely alone. 

A concentrated gust of wind shot down the hallway, scattering books and papers in its wake. 

"Shit!” 

The sudden voice startled Frankie, who unburied her face enough to see worn silver Nikes standing in front of her. Lifting her head from her arms with a sniffle, she looked up to see the same silver-haired boy she had seen outside the school the day before. He was moving between the frozen students, excited curiosity plainly written on his face. Finally, he looked down to Frankie. 

"What'dyoudo?" his words rushed together.

"I...I don't know..." she sniffled, "I...my head hurt...and..."

"Woah..." he muttered,jabbing a finger into the face of a freshman to check for a reaction. "T.K.O. for the whole school."

"The whole school?!" 

"Yeah, but some of the people  _ outside _ the school are likely to start freaking out, so you might wanna ditch this place for now," he stated frankly.

Frankie felt her breathing increase. Her heart started beating too fast. Panic was setting in. It was almost summer. Graduation was two months away, and what did she do? She froze the entire school! Were they frozen? Unconscious? What-

“Hey, I mean it,” he repeated, “We need to leave. This is about when witnesses start callin’ the cops.” 

“What?!” Frankie exclaimed, eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to...I can’t…”

"Woah, woah! Calm down!" the boy interjected, "Nobody's in any trouble if you don’t get caught. I can help."

"You can help me?" she asked, "Wait...who are you? Why do I keep seeing you? Why aren’t you stuck like them?” 

For a brief second, the boy disappeared. When he reappeared, he looked worried.

"Look, we've  _ really _ gotta go. I'll answer your questions later. Just get outta here."

Frankie knew he was right. This wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be caught. The only person conscious in a school full of statues would be the first to be questioned. Still, she couldn’t convince her legs to move. Too many fears and questions had filled the brief silence in her mind. Like those around her, she began to feel truly paralyzed. 

"Do I have to do everything myself?" the boy sighed, talking as though asking himself a rhetorical question. 

Before Frankie could even register movement, sunlight filled her vision. She could no longer feel the cold school floor beneath her. She wasn’t on the ground at all. Her head, just now catching up with her new surroundings, reasoned that at some point the strange boy had picked her up and brought them both outside. Now, her arm still remained around his shoulders as she silently struggled to pick which question to ask first. 

It was only a moment before he dropped her legs down, still supporting her as she settled onto her own two feet. 

"Sorry. You weren't moving,” he explained bluntly. "Don't worry about the queasy feeling. It'll pass."

There was no time to ask what he meant before Frankie’s stomach explained the rest. It flipped violently, a sharp contrast to the spinning in her head, as her whole body protested the rapid escape. Taking a deep breath, she hoped he was right and waited to level out. When she did, she looked around to get a better bearing of where exactly she was. They were outside the school, close enough to see the front entrance and far enough out to be concealed by a cluster of trees worked into the far corner of the landscaping. To her continued horror, this new location was an excellent vantage point to watch the small but growing crowd outside the school. A few of the paralyzed students must have been beyond the walls of the school, where people could see enough to be suspicious. She could worry about that next. They were hidden for now. 

"Who the heck are you?!" she finally demanded to know, keeping her voice low enough to ensure she wasn’t too well heard. 

"Hi. I'm Peter." the boy answered calmly with a grin, "Nice to meet you...officially."

"Are you following me?" she asked, continuing the line of questioning. 

"Well, there's no way to explain this without sounding like a total creep,” he admitted, “so yeah. I am."

"Why? How do you even know me?"

"You really don't remember me? We went to the same school for like three years." he scoffed light-heartedly.

"Peter..." she repeated slowly, while thinking back through her years of school.

"I didn't show up a lot, so I get it if you don't remember."

"Maximoff?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice. 

"Yup."

"I remember hearing about you,” she recalled. “You were on the track team. Didn’t you quit that and drop out or something?” 

“Booted off the team for ‘cheating’,” he explained with a scoff. “I didn’t. It’s not cheating to be faster than everyone else.” 

Frankie looked from Peter to the school and back, putting together how ended up here. 

“Dropped out after that,” he continued, “when things kept gettin’ worse.” 

“But why come back and follow  _ me?” _

“Because you’re different too,” he answered, leaning back against the tree that kept them from sight. 

“I saw you yesterday,” Frankie reminded him, “And that was before all of... _ this.” _

"Look, I figured out you were a telepath a while back. Usually, people who work to keep it a secret, like you do...er,  _ did _ , can only hide it for so long. Sometimes it’s pretty rough. I wanted to make sure you were alright, and be around...just in case. Ya know?" he explained. “Got harder when I had to leave, which brings us up to speed with the current creepiness.” 

"Hold on,” Frankie stopped him, “You said ‘just in case.’ Just in case of what?"

" _ Just in case  _ you didn't tell anyone about it. That’d mean you were dealing with it on your own. No one should have to.”

"Look, that's nice, Peter, but I don't know what you're talking about," Frankie claimed defensively, "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Oh, so it's like that, huh?" he asked, seemingly genuinely.

"When you’re tired of pretending to be boring and normal, let me know,” he offered, “because sooner or later, they’re gonna find out that you’re not like them. When that happens, being alone gets hard.” 

"Look-"

"Just think about it. If you check your pocket, there's a piece of paper with my phone number. I took the liberty of putting it there when I walked us outside," he said, words firing rapidly, "Until then, gorgeous."

With a wink, he disappeared.

Frankie turned quickly, looking around for any sign of where he’d gone. Instead, she spotted a familiar car and the nearly vanished dread from before began to creep back in. _ Mom. _ On shaky legs, she walked toward the vehicle. She attempted to convince herself that it would be okay. Everything would be just fine if she just make it to the car. She and her mom could just drive away. 

Moira had other ideas as she got out of the car and immediately began to look around. She felt a wave of relief as she saw Frankie walking toward the car. Something was strange about the crowd gathering and she was thankful to know that her daughter wasn’t in the middle of it. 

“Frankie,” she greeted as her daughter closed the sidewalk distance. “I thought I’d go ahead and pick you up from school today, instead of you walking home. Maybe it’ll give us a chance to talk more about some things.” 

“Okay,” Frankie accepted immediately, “let’s go talk.” 

Normally, she might have argued that she was capable of walking home on her own. This time, however, her only goal was to leave and leave quickly. She’d put up no fight about a car when a getaway was the main idea. 

Moira’s eyebrows knit together in a questioning concentration, but it was not at Frankie’s sudden acceptance. She looked once more at the small gathering crowd upon hearing a distressed shout. 

“Go ahead, get in the car,” she instructed, “I’ll be right back.” 

“Mom, don’t worry about it,” Frankie protested, though her voice had already begun to betray her fear and crack at her facade of calm. “Let’s just go.” 

“Two minutes,” her mother assured, continuing toward the crowd. 

Frankie could have gotten in the car. Maybe she should have. Instead, she chose to follow after her mother quickling, continuing the attempts at leaving this day and this school behind them. 

“Cindy! Cindy!” a woman at the center of the crowd shouted frantically. “Why won’t you answer me?! Cindy, it’s Mom!” 

Moira pushed through the crowd with Frankie following close behind her. When the people in front of her parted, she saw a distraught woman, the one who had been shouting, with her hands on a girl’s shoulders as if trying to shake her awake. The young girl stood silently still, though her body was stuck mid stride, having been walking toward the school when she stopped. Two other girls stood right near her, both in the same state. 

Frankie saw the frightened tears on the mother’s face. Worse than that, now amid a crowd, she could  _ feel _ the fear that caused them. Shock. Confusion. And so much fear. Everyone in the small cluster was trying what they could to make sense of it or to help. Some were so stunned by the odd anomaly that they themselves were nearly as still as those affected. Her own mother’s attention jumped from student to student, following the scattered statue-like forms until she saw that more were trapped coming in and out of the front door. 

“This goes inside,” she realized. “There are more. All...stuck.” 

The fear and frantic thoughts that Frankie felt stung at her. She had never meant to cause any of this. An instinct pulled fiercely at her to leave. To simply run, further and further until she was far enough that she couldn’t hurt anyone else. A great deal of the fear and sadness that welled up in her was her own. 

“I…” she spoke, never intending the thought to slip freely from her lips, “I didn’t mean to.” 

Moira turned back to her daughter, having heard the quiet words slip out. She opened her mouth to speak, to question what her daughter had said, but no question came out. No consolation or comfort. Only two words escaped before her hand rose to cover her mouth and trap the rest of her shock. 

_ “Not you…” _

Frankie still felt the fear of those around her. All of it surrounded the students who seemed frozen in time. All of it save for the new surge of fear that she sensed. Fear from her mother. Fear of  _ her. _

She could hear the forming covers and lies. The kind words being planned to comfort her and talk her down from...whatever it was she had done. It was too late. She had already seen the true feelings beneath it all. 

No more lies.

She took off running. 

Her reason caught up with her as she ran, trying to inform her of her mother who called desperately after her. Trying to remind her that she was running nowhere. No plan, no destination. All of it was drowned out by the need to get away, far enough away that she couldn’t feel that fear ever again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sneak in a huge thank you to everyone that has read and liked the story so far. I really appreciate all the great feedback and kudos. 
> 
> There's a note that I meant to add prior to this (because I've gotten questions about it) that I'm going to stick in here now. This fic is super loosely based around the newer movie timeline (First Class, Days of Future Past, etc.) but doesn't strictly adhere to them. I am absolutely sure there will be some timeline inconsistency. 
> 
> That's it for this reading interruption. Enjoy!

The sun set rapidly, stretching long shadows throughout the park from the base of each tree. It was in one of those shadows, against one of those trees, that Frankie took shelter. Her lungs and legs ached and burned, providing a sharp contrast to the way the spring air grew cold against her skin as the light faded. This park was as good a place to stop as any, since she had no true idea of where she was. The ache in her legs was partly from her initial burst of running and only made worse by how long she had walked since. There was no evidence of how much distance she covered, but it felt desperately far. It was farther than she had ever wandered alone and too far to make her way home. That was the realization that settled onto her shoulders as she leaned against the tree at her back, thankful that the shadow provided some obscurity. 

Cars drove by the edges of the small park, though they grew fewer and farther apart. The slowing traffic and the headlights active on what still passed alerted her more to the time of day than the sunset. Sure, the sun could go down and it would be dark, but a lesser number of people in a strange neighborhood at night was a more frightening reminder. 

This day had spiralled drastically out of her control. In the rapid course of one day, she had gone from a normal high school student, primed to graduate, to being a runaway freak. She mentally scoffed at herself

_ Excellent instinct, Frankie. What next? _

No amount of irritation with herself or others would change the simple truth of the moment. She was lost, alone, and really hungry. 

_ Alone. _

_ “Sooner or later, they’re gonna find out…”  _ she remembered Peter’s words,  _ “When that happens, being alone gets hard.” _

Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Frankie felt precisely what she had hoped for. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it and squinting to read it in the nearly absent light, she could make out a name and a phone number scribbled down. She gripped the paper tightly, its presence offering the only comfort she had in that moment. Quickly searching her other pockets, she was further relieved to find some change that she had shoved into one and forgotten about. 

Life sometimes offered small mercies, she thought, now holding the paper and loose change in a tightly closed hand as though her life depended on it. Looking around her briefly, she waited for a car to pass by the edge of the park before she herself slipped away from the trees and across the street. On the corner, lit by a streetlamp like a beacon, she stopped a payphone that she had hurried past some short while before. It might have been minutes or hours; she had lost track of how long she’d lingered in the park, weighing her options. 

Without further thought, which she feared would only change her mind, she slotted the change into the phone. Holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she held the paper up with one hand and punched in the number with the other. The ringing and waiting nearly shook her nerve, but it wasn’t long before an answer came through. 

_ “Hello?”  _ a woman’s voice greeted flatly. 

“Um...hello,” Frankie stumbled out her own greeting, “I’m calling for Peter. I don’t know if this is the right number, but if he’s--”

Frankie stopped as she heard a long sigh from the other end of the line.

_ “What’s he done?”  _ the woman asked, a tired resignation in her tone. 

“Oh. No. Nothing,” Frankie assured, “I’m a friend from school...er, well...we used to go to school together.” 

_ “Alright,” t _ he woman accepted with audible relief, before a clattering sound suggested that she had held the phone further from her.  _ “Peter! Phone!”  _

_ “Hey, what’s up?”  _ Peter’s voice came through immediately. 

Frankie barely had the time to let out a breath of relief before scrambling for an explanation. 

“Hi, it’s Frankie. From earlier...with all the--”

_ “Yeah, I know,”  _ Peter cut in,  _ “Kinda figured that. Everything okay?”  _

“No,” she admitted, her voice coming out a bit higher and nerve-wrecked than she wanted, “it’s not. There were people freaking out and a lot going on and...I panicked.” 

_ “Panicked?”  _

“Full crisis, took off running, panic.” She paused, growing frustrated with herself at how quickly she felt anxious tears once again form in her eyes as hearing the words from herself made everything too real. “And I don’t know what to do.” 

_ “Where are you?”  _

“I don’t know that either.’ 

_ “Sooo not helpful,”  _ he chided, his light tone forcing a quiet chuckle from Frankie. 

“You’re my stalker,” she shot back, “You tell me!” 

_ “Not a stalker!”  _

“Okay, okay. There’s a park right here and all the businesses are still small, so still in the suburbs somewhere, I guess,” she explained, trying to find more notable locations to add to her description. “But, listen, you don’t have to come out here or anything. I just didn’t wanna be alone for a minute.” 

There was no answer on the other line. 

“Peter?” 

“What? Like it’s far?” 

Frankie jumped and let out a short squeak of surprise as his words were given in person. Still clutching the handset to her ear, she turned and looked over her shoulder to see Peter’s self-satisfied smirk right behind her. 

“Don’t do that!” she gasped, trying to find it within her to be frustrated rather than just relieved and amused. 

She hung up the payphone with an exaggerated force and turned back to Peter with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Stalker,” she accused again, en eyebrow raising as if daring him to challenge the claim. 

“I really didn’t know,” he defended, his hands raised in mock surrender, “Took what you gave me about the place and went looking.” 

“So...you like near here?” she wondered. 

“Nope,” he answered plainly, “Across town. That’s why it took so long to get here.” 

“How is that even--”

"I thought we went over this outside the school," he said, cutting her off before he was suddenly behind her, "I'm the fastest man alive."

“I figured that you were fast,” Frankie noted, “But just ‘fast’ is different from ‘jump scare from across town’ fast.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Peter agreed, “Pretty awesome, right?” 

He stood in front of her again, moving his hand from behind his back to reveal a flower that he was holding. He handed it to her and gave her a cheeky grin.

"I suppose you went and got this just now while we were talking.”

"Yup."

Frankie couldn’t help but allow the smile that was trying to spread across her face as she studied the flower in her hand. 

"You really didn't have to drop everything and come ove-"

"I wanted to."

"You really like interrupting people,” she remarked lightly. 

"Sorry," he chuckled.

Without another word, he gently took the flower back from her hand, reaching up to stick it in her light auburn hair.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked. 

“Huh?” she questioned, so focused on his actions that it took a moment to process what he’d asked. 

“Come on,” he urged, “I know a spot.”

He grabbed her hand and led them back across the street toward the park. Even at what could be considered a normal walk, his pace was brisk and excited, with Frankie all but jogging to keep up with him. Thankfully, the spot he had in mind was a close clearing where the shadows from the trees wouldn’t interrupt what little light remained. 

“Here,” Peter decided as though thinking the word aloud. 

He sat on the grass, hand still gripping Frankie’s pulling her lightly to sit as well. She didn’t fight the suggestion, too tired to stay on her legs a minute longer anyway. 

"So, what happened?” Peter asked the moment she sat down. “Must have been something pretty serious to make you take off like that.” 

“I don’t really know where to start,” she answered, trying to find a way to put everything into words without sounding utterly insane. “Maybe it’s serious. Maybe I’m completely overreacting like a psycho, because I don’t know which part of my head is me anymore.” 

Peter simply listened, dark eyes fixed intently on Frankie as she continued. 

“After years of convincing myself that I could hide whatever this is --” She gestured at her temple where she had so often tried to rub the tension and external thoughts away. “--I lost control. My mom found out, which is quite literally what I have nightmares about. I thought she would be disappointed or angry. She wasn’t. She was just scared. The way she looked at me...I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I took off.” 

“I get how bad that sucks,” Peter sighed, shifting slightly closer though not entirely sure why. 

Frankie smiled a bit at the words. She got the distinct impression that Peter was not someone who slowed down for deep heart-to-hearts too frequently, but his genuine attention and understanding in that moment was better than any elegant, existential solution. She didn’t have to be a telepath to understand that, from minute one, this boy had been nothing but honest with her. It was a welcome change in her life, to say the least. 

"Hey, you hungry?" Peter said, seemingly out of the blue.

"Um...I guess, but I don't know if there are any places to get decent food around here. I don't know this area," Frankie replied, reeling slightly at the sudden change of topic, "Plus I don't have any cash or--"

"There's this great pizza place like seventeen miles from here. You've gotta try it."

He didn’t wait for a response before he was off. Vanishing out of sight seemed to be a regular thing with him, Frankie assumed, looking at the empty spot next to her. Truthfully, it didn’t bother her when she knew he would turn back up again. He would come back...right? 

The moment of quiet left her mind to wander, still processing the hellish day. 

"What am I gonna do?" she sighed, talking to no one in particular. Part of her was still in shock that she had simply taken off before giving her mother a chance to say something. The fear she felt was the gut reaction, yes, but there was always a chance the fear would pass. Perhaps that was her own wishful thinking. How could she go back there? How could she go back to her façade of a normal life remembering what it felt like to have her only family afraid of her? All of the worst case scenarios played out in her head again and again, like a miserable symphony. What if her mother just didn't want her anymore? What if she threw her out and she didn't have a place to live? Could she make it on her own without even graduating? One thing was sure: she could kiss Oxford or any other college goodbye. This was a giant mess that she didn't want or need right now...or ever!

The smell of pizza freed her from her thoughts. She looked up to see a large, checked blanket laid out in front of her that hadn’t been present a second before. On the blanket was a large pizza box, two bottles of Coke, and a small candle in a glass jar, which cast the whole area in a warm light. The scene was more than enough to chase off the worry until later.

"Ta-da." Peter beamed, reclaiming his seat next to her.

“This is really nice, but I can’t pay you back for dinner,” she explained, “You took off before I could tell you that I left my backpack at the school.” 

"Don't worry about it," Peter assured her with a warm smile on his face. 

"Where'd you get the blanket?" she wondered.

"It's technically a tablecloth and... _ where  _ is not important," he said, rushing out the last bit. 

“And the candle?” 

“Came with the tablecloth. It’s dark out.” 

Frankie was content enough with the answer and distracted by the heavenly aroma of the freshly baked pizza, so she left the matter along. 

The pizza felt as though it disappeared as fast as it had come. Both teens shoveled food and kept talking as though it were any normal day. Frankie really needed that, because, for her, it had been years since she’d had any normal days. This was the first time that she didn't have to worry about who and what she was. No headaches. No hiding. She was just herself, and Peter was just fine with being himself. The conversation went on and on, covering everything from favorite movies and music to places each of them liked to go and spend time during the summer to just about anything else that came to mind. 

It wasn't until it was truly getting too late -- a realization marked by the fact that the candle had almost entirely burned out -- that Frankie realized she had to make a decision: she could go home or keep running.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do," she sighed, sorry to spoil the normal, fun part of the conversation. "I can't just go home. Not after taking off like that. I...I don’t think I’m ready to face my mom again. Not yet."

"Well, you're not sleeping in the park here, so why don't you just come stay with me for tonight?" Peter suggested, "God, that sounded really creepy. Didn't it?"

Frankie nodded, a chuckle slipping out alongside the gesture.

"I mean like my house...that I share with my mom and sister. Not just with me. That's...weird...er, whatever."

"Thank you, Peter.”

"It's just pizza and a place to crash. It's not a bit dea-"

"No. Thank you for showing up.” She playfully nudged his shoulder with her own. “You were right. It’s easier when you’re not alone.” 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone that is still reading and liking this story. I really appreciate all of the Kudos and nice comments. They seriously mean a lot to me. 
> 
> This chapter is heavily divergent from the film canon, as you will notice quickly, because it includes Peter's aforementioned sister (who is NOT the one featured in DOFP). I will not apologize for this change, because teenage Punk Rock Maximoff twins live Rent-free in my brain. 
> 
> As always, consider leaving Kudos or a Comment if you like the story.

“Here we are,” Peter announced as they walked up the front steps. 

The “walk” from the park to Peter’s house had taken very little time, as he did most of the work in getting them there quickly. Frankie’s head and stomach still reeled from the sudden speed and movement. She suspected that was why he had stopped them at the end of the driveway, so she had a moment to catch her breath and readjust before they went inside. Thankful that the rapid-fire travel was over for the time being, Frankie followed closely behind Peter. 

“Are you sure this isn’t a prob-” Frankie quietly began asking. 

“No,” Peter replied, fast and blunt, “it’s totally fine.” 

He opened the door and stepped right inside, but Frankie hesitated for a brief moment. She didn’t want to cause any problems and she couldn’t imagine any version of this, were the roles reversed, that her own mother would ever be okay with. This was a different situation from hers, she had to remind herself. It was worth a chance. 

It was either that reminder or the way the sight of the worn out welcome mat that made her feel bold enough to step inside. Yes, this was a very different situation, since Peter made no efforts to hide his abilities from his family it seemed. They had to be used to _ strange _ by now. 

“Peter!” a woman’s voice called around the corner the moment the two were in the house; it was followed shortly after by the woman herself. 

She was a woman likely old enough and definitely exasperated enough to be Peter’s mother, Frankie noted to herself. Her suspicions proved correct as Peter greeted her. 

“Hey, Mom.”

His mother paused when she saw both teenagers, studying the two silently for a moment with a questioning, skeptical look. 

“What did you do?” she asked as though the question were a well-formed habit. 

"Nothing,” Peter defended, hands raised in mock surrender, “I just need a _ tiny _ favor."

"How much money this time?" she sighed in defeat.

"None. Mom, I'm not in trouble." Peter insisted again, "I just have a friend that needs a place to crash for tonight."

"Hi..." Frankie squeaked shyly, leaning out from where she stood mostly hidden behind Peter.

"A friend?" Peter's mother asked, disbelief still hanging close to her words. 

"Yeah...hi, I'm Frankie..." Frankie introduced herself awkwardly. “I think we talked on the phone earlier.” 

To Frankie’s relief, Peter's mother let out a calm sigh and the stress on her face faded. This was clearly a much better favor than the woman had anticipated. 

"Sure," she agreed, offering a weak smile. "Come on in, dear. Peter can show you around."

She gestured in toward the house and then walked into the kitchen, clearly finished questioning the situation. 

"Wow..." Frankie said quietly to Peter, "The few times I’ve ever had people over, my mom literally interrogated them.”

“That sounds  _ fun,” _ Peter remarked with a short, snorted laugh. “I think my mom’s just happy to know that I actually have friends...er...at least one anyway." 

The last part of the admission was spoken so quickly and nervously that Frankie had barely heard it. 

"So, you don't bring friends around a lot then?" Frankie laughed, good-naturedly, hoping to alleviate some of the boy’s nerves. 

"Let's just get the tour over with..."

Their first stop was downstairs. The basement was pretty much an open floor plan apartment in itself. Close to the stairs there was a ping pong table, a couch, and what appeared to be a number of TVs, some of them stacked up on top of others. Further in, there were no fewer than two full-sized arcade games, a few speakers and instruments stuck in a corner, and a mass of pillows and blankets that a large bed likely resided beneath. Along the walls and in every spare crevice, the room was lined in boxes, what looked to be street and traffic signs, band posters, and a wide array of seemingly random objects. A few other rooms branched off of the large basement, which consisted of a few storage closets (likely also filled with random assortments of things) and a bathroom. 

“Preparing for the apocalypse?” Frankie asked, stepping further in to get a better look at a five-year supply of boxed junk food stacked neatly in one corner. 

Peter just offered a shrug and an amused smirk at the question. 

"Well, this is it," he stated, sitting on the edge of the ping pong table. “End of tour.” 

"What about the rest of the house?" Frankie wondered.

"That involves going upstairs...and we really shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"My sister doesn't like to be bothered, so we would be better off staying down here." he said, plainly.

"If I didn’t know better,” Frankie joked, “I’d think you were afraid of her.”

She stopped when she noticed the smile fade briefly from Peter’s face. 

"Anyone would be..." he mumbled, brushing off the thought as his voice quickly returned to normal. “She just likes being alone lately.” 

"So...where'd you get a full size arcade games?" Frankie asked, feeling that it was a good moment to change the subject. 

"That's a long story,” he admitted, fidgeting a bit. 

"Looks like there are a lot of  _ ‘long stories’  _ in here."

"If I'd have known you'd say yes, I would've like...cleaned or something," Peter explained nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"You offered, but you didn't think I'd come?" she wondered, unable to stop from smiling at the boy’s shy fidgeting. 

"I was hoping and all, but--” 

He didn’t finish the thought. Frankie once again chose to let him off the conversational hook. If he had more to say about it, she trusted he would say it in his own time. 

"So, what are we doing tonight?" she asked, still looking around the room to study the collections stashed in every area.

She immediately felt a shift in the air around her that told her that her attempts at shifting the topic did indeed make the situation less awkward. 

"Whatever you want," Peter answered happily, "We've got like movies, food, video games--”

"A ping pong table," Frankie added.

"Yeah, that too."

“Is one of these  _ many _ TVs hooked up?” she chuckled. 

“They all work fine,” Peter answered, thinking aloud as he spoke because he hadn’t given the other TVs much thought in a while. “The big one by the couch is the only one plugged in though.” 

"What kinda movies do you like?" 

"Whatever kind you wanna watch," he grinned, "If you don't wanna watch any I've got here, I'll just run and get more."

"That's sweet, but I'm sure what's here is fine," she said with a little smile creeping onto her face.

"Do you like horror movies...?" he asked hesitantly.

"Okay...so maybe you will need to run to the store." she admitted, a laugh slipping out with her words.

"Aww...are you too scared for horror movies?" he teased.

"I'm not scared!" she corrected defensively. "I'm just...I don't like "scary" movies."

"You’re totally scared, aren't you?!" he continued to taunt regardless.

"Shut up, Peter!" she laughed, taking one of the pillows from the old couch and throwing it at the boy.

In a blur, he dodged the pillow, picked it up from the floor where it landed and threw it back. As the situation escalated, pillows flew back and forth and the room became an active battle ground for a pillow war. It wasn't long before the jokingly irritated shouts grew loud enough to upset the other inhabitants of the house. The fun and pillows stopped when a loud shout erupted from the top of the stairs.

"Pietro!" a girl's voice yelled angrily, "Knock it off!"

Before Frankie could ask about who it was, or for that matter say anything at all, Peter ran up behind her and placed his hand over her mouth.

"Shhh..." he whispered, both fear and amusement carried on the sound. 

Frankie grumbled quietly from behind his hand, but his attention was locked on the staircase. She would have been convinced that he was truly upset about something, had it not been for the distinct spark of mischief in his dark eyes. There were footsteps on the wood flooring, as the figure at the top of the stairs walked away.

"What was that for?!" Frankie protested quietly the moment his hand dropped from her mouth.

The two stared at each other, Frankie trying to feign irritation and Peter trying to maintain a serious expression. The quiet moment quickly dissolved into quiet snorting laughter. 

"That," Peter explained between laughs, "was my delightful sister, and the reason we do not go to the second floor! Basement, safe. First floor, all good. Second floor, we're dead."

"Hmmm," Frankie sounded out thoughtfully, nodding in a deliberately exaggerated way, "I kinda like her."

"Now..." Peter started, before appearing on the other couch behind Frankie, "Where were we before you attacked me?"

"Attacked you?" Frankie scoffed, "Hardly!"

"No, I'm pretty sure you're the one who opened fire! I just retaliated."

"Movie.” 

"Oh! Right." he remembered, as he once more rushed off to appear with a box of VHS tapes, "Your pick."

It took them a solid hour to dig through the one box, because one or the other stopped to carefully critique and debate why each movie was a bad choice. Even though it was Frankie's decision, Peter found reason to playfully whine about whichever film she selected next. Finally, they decided on some cheesy action movie that looked like a truly terrible cinematic disaster, definitely worth laughing at. 

Frankie flopped ungracefully onto the old sofa that sat parallel to the TV. Peter shifted from his seat on the other end to quickly claim the seat next to her, as though he was afraid it would be taken by someone else if he didn't. It was only the two of them, so this logic made no sense to him either. All he knew was that he had to have that particular seat.

Throughout the movie, he disappeared and reappeared with various drinks and snacks to share. Frankie wasn't even convinced that he had paid attention to the movie at all. He seemed utterly incapable of sitting still for more than twenty minutes at a time, but she didn't mind as long as he came back from wherever he ran off to.

The final time that he ran off was to go to the kitchen and refill the fifth soda that he had gone through, as well as getting another one for Frankie. When he skidded to a halt in the kitchen, much to his surprise, he saw his sister standing in front of the refrigerator waiting for him.

"Gah, Wanda!" he said, startled by her having stood there waiting.

"Who’s the girl?” she asked, calm determination contrasting against her brother’s quick nerves. 

"She's a friend. She's staying here tonight, because she got into some trouble," he answered matter-of-factly.

"But who is she?"

"Her name's Frankie. I know her from school. That enough to make you happy?"

"Who is she?" Wanda repeated, unwavering in her quiet but firm resolve,

"Look, she's like us, okay? I found out that she was a mutant, and I wanted to help. Unfortunately, I didn't get there in time, so the secret got out. We don't know how bad it is, so she's hiding here." he explained so quickly that, if she hadn't been used to it, she would have missed what he said entirely.

"There are a lot of people like us, Pietro. It feels like there are more every day. Are we going to harbor them all here? Or is this girl  _ special?”  _

"She's different. I don't know how, but she is. No telepath her age should be able to KO an entire school in seconds,” he went on. "I haven’t seen anyone react like this since, well,  _ you. _ You and I both know how dangerous that can be on your own.” 

"And what? You think you can help her?" Wanda questioned further, though no judgement weighted down her words. 

"I helped you, didn't I?” Peter asked in return, a bit unsure of himself. “And, no offense, but I can’t imagine a telepath is worse than you were back when...you know.” 

"Like you said. This one's "different’,” Wanda noted, using Peter’s own choice of words, “And if I didn’t agree with you, I wouldn’t bother you about it.” 

"She's like us because she's a mutant, but she's also nothing like us in a major way,” he argued. 

"How?"

"She's alone," he sighed, "We've always had each other. We worked through this together. Frankie...Frankie doesn't have anyone. The reason she’s here isn’t because she freaked out and froze a school. It’s because…” 

He paused, shaking his head and opening the fridge to retrieve the drinks he’d come upstairs for. The extra task gave him a moment to think, since Wanda had a point. It wasn’t as though either of them  _ knew _ how to really help this girl. Still, they could try. 

“...I get the feeling her family didn’t take it well,” he finished his thought. 

Wanda let out a deep sigh. She knew that her brother was right. Of the two of them, he'd always been the one that was better with this stuff. When it was her in a bad situation, no matter how bad things got, he’d never stopped trying. It was the trying that got the two through it. 

"You really like her, huh?" she asked, her voice softening as she stepped in front of Peter to force him to look at her as he answered. 

"I think so, yeah." he said, his words slow and deliberate. 

"Just make sure you can handle this."

With that, Wanda silently wandered back upstairs. Peter wasted no time rushing back downstairs to deliver them. However, when he reached the sofa, he stopped at the sight in front of him. Frankie had drifted off to sleep, lying peacefully with her head on the arm of the sofa. He smiled almost automatically before deciding on what to do. It was late, so he would let her sleep somewhere more comfortable than the lumpy old couch. He carefully picked her up, moving as slowly as he could force himself to move and walked her to the other side of the room. He laid her down on the bed and laid a blanket over her. 

When she shifted briefly, he froze in place, fearing that he had woken her up. After a moment, however, she had simply snuggled in further under the blanket and remained sound asleep. Peter released the breath he felt like he had been holding for an hour (or more realistically three seconds).

"Night, Frankie." he said softly.

He made his way back to the couch to arrange a makeshift bed for himself. Normally, he wasn’t a big fan of sleeping. It was rare for him to settle for more than a few hours at a time at most. He usually ended up passing out for short bursts of time on those rare occasions where he just ran out of energy. That was hardly a normal sleep schedule. Still, he'd give it a shot tonight. There was something comforting about Frankie’s presence that made the evening feel slower and more relaxed. 

"Ya know," he chuckled to himself, "this was my first sleepover."

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the last few. Because I'm revising an older version of this story, I wanted to keep the chapter breaks as consistent as I could with the original. The next update will likely be a bit longer. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! As always, if you like it, feel free to let me know! Fanfiction Writers are fueled by positive feedback the way Galactus is fueled by planets. We really can't get too much.

Frankie woke up at seven o’clock exactly. While not a natural morning person, she’d long since trained herself to wake up and be ready, particularly on weekdays. Frankie had long since learned that her mother’s job was demanding, sending Moira out of the house to work before Frankie’s own day had even begun. The result was that all through high school, Frankie relied on herself for food and getting to school on time. She would only see her mother in the evening for the inevitable step-by-step discussion of her boring school day. Often she had considered forgoing school entirely, merely constructing a lie about her day and hoping that no one would be the wiser. Such a day never happened. Frankie seldom ever missed school until recently, until her headaches grew to be too much. Willingly skipping it had once been only a fleeting thought that she could never follow through on. 

Today was quite a bit different. Like any other weekday, she woke up at seven o’clock automatically. Her disoriented and sleep groggy mind refused to acknowledge the morning. She could just wait a few more minutes until her backup alarm went off. Rather than falling back to sleep, memories flooded into her thoughts. She remembered the incident at the school, she remembered running away, and she remembered a bright dimpled smile beaming at her from beside her on the old couch. This last memory seemed enough to chase off the sting of the others. As yesterday caught up with her, she expected to still be on that couch, though it seemed surprisingly more comfortable that she imagined. 

Stirring a bit to try and wake up her sore limbs, Frankie finally lifted her head from where her face had been buried in pillows. As she tiredly blinked her eyes open, she became aware of where she  _ actually  _ was. She had burrowed into a mountain of grey pillows and blankets. Rolling over and sitting up confirmed her suspicions; she was on a messy, oversized, and really comfortable bed. The wallpapering of band posters around her left no doubt about  _ whose. _

Climbing off of the bed, against her body’s lazy wish to go back to sleep, she did what she could to straighten herself out. Her clothes from yesterday were now wrinkled and slept in, and her hair had seen better days. She ran her hands over her shirt to try and reduce at least some of the creases before combing her fingers through her hair. It was likely that she still looked fairly rough, she figured, but it didn’t matter too much. She had no place to be today, since school was clearly out of the question. 

She trudged slowly from the corner of the basement toward the couch. Streaks of sunlight struggled through the curtains of the high windows, offering plenty of light to see where she was going. Frankie smirked when she looked down to see a mountain of assorted blankets on the couch, covering what she assumed was Peter. Since no part of him was visible to prove her theory, she elected to jab at the mountain to see if there was any movement. To her mild disappointment, there was no sudden startled motion beneath; there was, however, a tired grumble that was barely audible through the blanketed mass.

"Peter?" 

"Hmmm…?" came the muffled response.

"Did you really give up your bed?” Frankie asked, “Instead of just letting me sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah…" he muttered, finally emerging from the pile of blankets as he sat up.

"That was such a jerk move!" Frankie protested playfully, picking up a pillow from the hoard and whacking Peter over the head with it.

"Wha-why?!" he questioned defensively, his surprise at the sudden pillow assault forcing him to wake up a bit faster. 

"Because now I feel like a jerk for making you do that!” Frankie argued, adding another pillow attack. 

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at her tired, frustrated attacks. 

“Don’t,” he replied between laughs. “It was my choice, ‘cause you were in a  _ coma.” _

Frankie would have argued the point further, a part of her still feeling like an imposition for everything that he’d done for her, but she found herself too easily distracted by how cute this boy looked with messy hair. She guessed that this was probably a usual state for him: the bizarre silver bedhead, sweatpants with an old t-shirt, and... _ wait. _

"Your hair isn't straight?" she asked, the genuine question bubbling out before she gave it a second thought. 

Peter just paused for a long moment, visibly scrambling to come up with an answer. 

“Yesterday it was, so...I figured..." she allowed her thoughts to keep slipping out. "Do you straighten your hair?"

"Nope. No," he answered too quickly. "When I run, it kinda straightens out. Also…."

The last part of his defense faded out deliberately and was muttered too fast to be heard. 

"What was that again? That last bit," Frankie prodded.

"Sometimesmysisterstraightensit,okay?!"

"So, does it usually look like this?" she wondered, a smile growing on her lips as she reached out and brushed a messy, silver curl out of his face. 

"Wavy-ish...yeah,” he answered as casually as he could, “I guess.” 

"I like it." she noted, before taking a seat on the couch's blanket mountain beside him. 

She noticed his face turn slightly red as he mumbled a shy thank you, but she didn't say anything about it. She’d teased him enough for first thing in the morning. 

"So...what's next?" she asked. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, I have successfully run away from my problems -- since I have no idea how I’m going to fix them -- I've dropped everything and disappeared, and my mom is either worried or pissed off,” she sighed. “I don’t know what to do next.” 

“Well, I mean the secrets out with your family, right?”

“Family,” Frankie echoed quietly, “Sort of. It’s just me and my mom. I never knew my dad. I had a stepdad for a while, but...he left too. If my mom doesn’t…” She paused and took a deep breath, unable to give any more words to the thought. “Well, I might not have family anymore.” 

“That’s the best part about not doing all of this alone,” Peter explained hopefully. “You get a new family.” 

"A new family?"

"Yeah. It's kinda like..." he continued, searching for the right words. "Your mom is normal right?"

"She’s not a mutant, if that’s what you mean,” Frankie shrugged. 

"So, she doesn't know what you're going through. Normal people don’t really get it. But people like you- like us- understand. We know what it’s like and don’t get freaked out.” 

"You think she'll be afraid of me?" Frankie mumbled.

"Don't think of it like that," Peter said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t think she’d mean to be, but--”

Frankie could feel the truth behind his words before he finished. 

“But you haven’t seen this end well before.” 

“I wanna tell you that it does,” he admitted, unshaken by her clear understanding of his thoughts, “and that that part’s gonna be okay. I really do.” 

“I know.” Frankie leaned in closer, enjoying the comforting weight of his arm. “Thanks.” 

“If it helps,” Peter offered, “my dad didn’t stick around long enough for me to know him either. We could start a club.” 

He felt Frankie’s laugh against his side and couldn’t help but to echo it. Even if it meant fighting against his restless nature, he would have stayed like that for hours if he could. The morning, however, had other plans. 

"Peter!" A voice called down the stairs. "Food!"

Frankie recognized it as Peter's mother. She opened her mouth to say something to Peter, but he had already disappeared. Frankie just groaned and, assuming he forgot to wait up for her, followed him slowly up to the kitchen. Even if it ruined a nice moment, she couldn’t help but be somewhat amused by how quickly he switched gears. 

Waiting for her in the kitchen was a massive buffet of assorted breakfast foods and snacks, covering the whole of the island in the center and a number of the countertops around her. Frankie’s first thought was that this was way too much food for the number of people present. There were only four people in the house, right?

Peter’s mom was giving Peter some type of instruction as she gathered up her bag and keys, likely heading out to work. On her way out the door, she called over to Frankie and Peter.

"Help yourself," she said, "Frankie, if you need anything, just ask Peter. Peter, you're in charge. Do.  _ Not. _ Get. In. Trouble."

Peter gave a look of mock offense at the implication, earning a huff from his mother as she closed the door behind her. 

"And...she left." Frankie noted out loud.

"She does that," Peter shrugged, focusing intently on the buffet breakfast she had left them with.

"She doesn't seem to mind me just being here?” Frankie wondered. “I mean, my mom’s out a lot too, but  _ never _ if I had someone over. I mean, I haven’t, but if I did.” 

"Nope," Peter added, finishing a third box of pop-tarts. “She doesn’t mind.” 

Frankie’s stomach demanded her attention, pulling her focus to the glorious spread of food around them. It wasn’t exactly what would be considered the most balanced breakfast, as everything was in brightly colored boxes and could be cooked with a toaster or microwave. As someone who was rarely allowed such foods, she was going to enjoy this. She quickly loaded her plate up with a stacked variety of options. Soon after, she was glad that she had selfishly claimed so much food; It was only five minutes before nearly everything that wasn't on Frankie's plate was gone. 

"Geez!" she chuckled, looking at the empty counters around her in a mixture of confusion and awe. "Where do you put it?!"

"When you move faster than light, you burn a lot of energy," came a voice from behind her.

Frankie spun around to see a teenage girl standing in the kitchen doorway. She hadn't even heard someone come down the stairs, much less walk this close. The girl had straight dark hair with bright red fading in at the ends. She wore almost entirely the same colors: black and red. The girl’s dark eyes and sharp nose slightly resembled Peter’s, so the similarities and bold styles suggested that this was his sister. After all, Frankie had only  _ heard _ the infamous girl before now. 

"Ummm...hi," Frankie greeted nervously, with an awkward little wave. "You must be--"

"Wanda."

"I'm-"

"Frankie."

"Ok-ay then…" Frankie retreated from the conversation attempts.

"So, you're the girl my brother won't shut up about?" Wanda asked, with a blunt yet generally friendly manner.

Peter stood behind Frankie giving Wanda the best "please stop right now" gesture he could come up with.

"You were right," Wanda smirked, looking to her brother. "She is pretty."

Ignoring the mortified expression that froze onto her brother’s face, she moved further into the kitchen. 

Frankie couldn’t help but to watch the girl as she noticed an empty plate slide across the counter and into Wanda’s hand. Next, the freezer door shook violently for a moment before throwing itself open and jettisoning a box of frozen waffles. The box landed on the counter and slid, stopping only when it hit the side of the toaster. Wanda pulled two waffles from the box and dropped them into the toaster, which then appeared to push them down and start on its own. More of the little remaining food was torn from boxes and wrappers to land on the plate in the girl’s hand. Her other hand, Frankie noticed, had a strange red glow around it and moved in odd gestures and motions as though conducting the strangeness around her. The toaster shot the two waffles into the air and they remained caught there, mirroring the strange red glow, only dropping when Wanda moved her plate beneath them. 

“Show off,” Peter grumbled as his sister walked back to the kitchen door, food in hand. 

“Hypocrite,” she taunted back.

She walked out of the kitchen, heading back toward the stairs leading up to what Peter had identified as her domain. She only paused briefly to call back to Frankie over her shoulder. 

"Welcome to the family."


End file.
